


To Rule And To Serve

by Acinonyx1



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Lance (Voltron), Altean Pidge | Katie Holt, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Balmeran Hunk (Voltron), Bottom Keith (Voltron), Extremely Dubious Consent, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Racism, Slave Keith, Slavery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-17 13:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13659888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acinonyx1/pseuds/Acinonyx1
Summary: During a visit to the Galra Empire in efforts to maintain peace, Prince Lance is offered a night with one of Prince Lotor’s pleasure slaves. It’s an offer he’s not allowed to refuse even if he wanted to.--But peace has to crumble eventually, and in order to stop a war Lance has to flee across the universe with a band of misfits.





	1. Purple

**Author's Note:**

> I hope for this to be a multi-chapter story. Tags will be updated as they come and warnings will be included in every chapter. General warnings of slavery, racism and the consent issues that come with slavery for the entire story. Comments are loved and cherished.

They turn down another dark corridor and this time Lance sighs. “Why is it so dark? Did the building budget not cover lighting?”

He directs the questions towards the Galran guards, who’ve been mute since they escorted the Royal party off their ship and ends up glaring at the back of their heads for their silence. 

“I love what you’ve done with the place!” Lance tries a little louder. “Who needs bright colors when the dark gray really sings against the dark purple am I right?”

Silence.

“Do Galrans own any other clothing except armor?”

Nope.

“Who cleans up the fur when you guys shed?”

One of his Altean guards snorts. Another asks, “Curious, my Prince?”

Lance pouts. Galran culture has always been confusing for him, and a trip that Lance had hoped would clear up some of his questions has done anything but. He’d anticipated a royal greeting at his ship and instead a pair of guards had picked him up like cargo.

He’s lost count of how many corridors he’s dragged his feet down. Lance had expected a meeting with a fellow Crown Prince, not a hike so long he ends up with blisters on his toes. And when their journey finally ends at a set of huge double doors, Lance kind of wants to cry and partly wants a drink of something stronger than Altean wine.

Their Galran escorts take station at either side of the doors. And when one barks out “Prince Lotor’s quarters!” it’s so loud and so unexpected that Lance yelps and finds himself having sidestepped behind one of his guards.

Someone hides a laugh with a cough and the guard he’s hiding behind looks over his shoulder with a smile. “Don’t worry, we’ll protect you if anything happens, my Prince.”

Lance squints up at him and then steps out from his cover. “Who gave you all such big egos? Wait, nevermind.”

“We’ll be right outside, my Prince.”

Lance lets out a breath, straightens his clothes, presses his hands against the doors and pushes them open as he enters.

Inside opens out to a wide space very similar to Lance’s own quarters. But it’s more leather and metal and Lance thinks Galrans wouldn’t know what silk is if he smacked them with it. The color scheme is equally as miserable as before, but there are an acceptable amount of lights on the walls. Lance can now see his own feet without squinting. Small improvements. 

“Prince Lance of Altea!” A voice rings out and Lance hides the way it makes him jump. He turns to his left and wonders why all Galra are so intimidating.

Prince Lotor is tall and lean with skin so smooth even Lance can appreciate it despite its color. He walks towards Lance with his arms outstretched and claps them down on his shoulders hard enough for Lance’s knees to almost buckle. 

“I assume I can call you just Lance,” Lotor says and his smile borders on friendly. “Glad you could make the trip.”

“It’s no issue. Your guards are really something, really know how to talk a man’s ear off,” Lance says and Lotor’s face twists in amusement. 

“I think we’ll get along well. Father had wanted us to begin on trade talks immediately but… I think we can leave those for this trip.”

Lance shrugs. “Sure. Not sure why it’s gotta be so complicated - resources for resources right?” 

“Precisely.”

With a hand on back Lotor guides Lance over to two leather armchairs and sinks down into one. Lance follows him, happy to put his feet up.

“Tired?” Lotor asks and snaps his fingers.

“Lets just say these shoes weren’t designed for long distance events,” Lance answers and eagerly reaches for the goblet offered to him by a servant girl. 

The first sip is too much.

The second, much more bearable.

And the third has Lance both missing the elegance of Altean wine and wondering why they don’t make them this strong back home. 

The small table in front of them is quickly covered in snacks and Lance finds himself reaching for something-on-a-stick before the servant girl has even set it down. 

Everything is more meat and less green and Lance is groaning in his seat at the first bite. “I gotta warn you, Lotor,” Lance says and waves the empty stick at him. “You’re gonna hate Altean food.” 

Hunk’s gonna kill him for that.

“It seems cultural differences are not all bad,” Lotor offers.

“Right!” Lance has another three snacks in his hand. 

“Good food,” he swallows. 

“Good company,” he nods at Lotor.

“And pretty girls,” Lance finishes and runs his eyes up the servant girl. With a body like that he could totally get past the fangs and the purple-ness. 

Lotor takes a sip of his drink. “Lance. I think I have something that would please you.”

“Oh yeah?” He takes another bite and goes for more food. “You’ve done a pretty good job so far.”

Lance doesn’t pay attention to the tap of feet on the metal floor until he hears Lotor sigh. He glances up, almost holds his goblet up for a refill and ends up choking.

He’s never quite seen a Galra like it. 

Small. Slim. And pale. So unlike a Galra that it’s mesmerizing.

White skin and black hair and fangs so small they look delicate in his mouth. No purple. No yellow sclera’s. Only black ears that twitch on top of his head.

And Galrans might not know what silk is but they’ve clothed the boy in a cotton so sheer Lance can see everything.

Lance isn’t quite sure what to make of him.

“He’s…” 

“An interesting mix; Galra and human. Can’t say I’ve seen it before. But here in the Galra Empire we find uses for bastard runts.”

Lance shifts, uncomfortable and watches as the boy slips into Lotor’s lap like he belongs there. 

“Slavery isn’t a thing in Altea, is it.”

It’s not a question when Lotor’s got a sneer on his face and a boy in his lap. Lotor already knows the answer. He knows that Lance is stuck, unsure what to do because he’s never been faced with a pleasure slave.

Slavery has never been a _thing_ in Altea.

But it is a thing for the Galra. 

“Keith has always been my favorite. Obedient, talented, and he bruises nicely,” Lotor says and the way he runs his hand up Keith’s thigh makes Lance squirm.

He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like that a person is considered nothing but an object. Doesn’t like that Lotor can just grab and touch.

Keith doesn’t even seem to mind though. He snuggles up against Lotor, parts his thighs a tad so that Lotor’s hand can slip in between and looks over at Lance with mild curiosity. 

Lance gulps down more alcohol. 

“Pretty, isn’t he?”

 _Yes_. Lance isn’t sure if he’s allowed to think that. 

“Some advice; he prefers the sweet things,” Lotor says and Lance doesn’t get a word in before Keith is slipping from Lotor’s lap and crawling over to him. 

He’s grace and long limbs and Lance thinks he’s going to die.

Keith settles himself between Lance’s legs, rests his head on Lance’s thigh, looks up at him expectantly and yup, Lance is dead. 

“I…” Lance looks to Lotor for help, who’s sat watching with amusement. But he tilts his head to the left in guidance and Lance is reaching for a tiny pastry before he’s fully realized just how weird this is.

He offers the treat from between his shaky fingers and Keith leans in and takes it slowly. There’s a tongue against the pads of his fingers and gold eyes that don’t leave his. 

And then Keith is pulling back. He chews neatly and then resumes resting on Lance’s thigh. It’s all amazingly practiced. Intentionally seductive. Taught and rehearsed. 

And it all works wonderfully. Lance is hot in the face and there’s absolutely a sweat bead running down his back.

Lotor laughs.

Lance isn’t sure how long he feeds Keith from between his thighs. But eventually his fingers are sticky with syrup and he has to endure Keith sucking his fingers clean until its just Keith kissing the tips of his fingers in a messed up thank you.

He doesn’t really know what he’s feeling after that. After Keith disappears from Lotor’s quarters with just the patter of bare feet on the floor and a sway of the hips that just about destroys Lance.

“I take it you liked him,” Lotor says and Lance replies with the shake of his head.

“I mean; slaves aren’t really my thing.”

“Of course.” 

\---

It’s vargas later that Lance finds himself having stumbled his way to the guest quarters and now he’s stuck blinking at a pair of familiar eyes as their owner yawns and rolls among the sheets in the bed.

His bed. 

“Keith,” Lance breathes out. 

“Prince Lotor says I’m pretty. Do you think I’m pretty, Prince Lance?”

Lance squirms. What is he supposed to do? “Is there even a correct answer? If I say no I’d be lying and if I say yes it makes me a creep.”

Keith cocks an eyebrow and looks at him amused. He sits up on the bed and the movement is about ten times more graceful than should be possible. And the way his clothing slips down to bare a shoulder is sinful. 

Lance finds himself a spot on the ceiling to stare at. “Okay… so… um you seem to have taken this bed… so, it would only be polite for me to go find another room.”

He can practically feel Keith’s smirk and _oh look!_ That purple ceiling panel is a different shade of purple to its neighbor. 

“Prince Lance… -”

Such a creative design choice. 

“… Prince Lotor has requested that I… -”

Is that mauve or amethyst?

“… share your bed for the night.”

Lance snaps back to Keith. “Huh?”

Keith blinks at him. “Prince Lotor has requested –.“

“No, it’s fine. I heard that bit.”

“Oh. Good,” Keith says and then proceeds to rise from the bed with no shame and Lance has to find another ceiling spot to glare at. 

“Look. I don’t really need…” Lance’s words die in his mouth when an arm wraps around his shoulders and a slender body presses up against his. 

Keith is more beautiful up close. 

“You talk a lot, Prince Lance,” Keith mumbles against his lips and Lance has forgotten how to breathe.

“Yeah, well,” he croaks out, “people say that a lot about me.” There’s a finger being run down his chest – his poor heart. 

He gets a smile for his words - less smirk and more genuine. Like Lance somehow isn’t the asshole in this situation.

“What else do people say about you?” Keith asks. Like he cares. 

“A – a lot of things. I’m clever and handsome and talented and an excellent shot,” he babbles like a fool.

“Hm?” Keith bites just below his bottom lip and Lance practically shakes. “All true I assume.”

Keith pulls are the fabric at his chest, looks up at Lance like he wants to eat him, and its just all the most perfect act. The perfect tease. 

He’s got a stunning slave wrapped around him and Lance hardly knows how he’s stopping himself at this point.

“Prince Lance, are you going to kiss me?”

“Do you want this?” Lance asks. He has to ask and clenches his hands into fists to stop them grabbing Keith by the hips.

“I want to make you happy,” Keith whispers.

“If you weren’t a slave would you want this?”

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

Keith pulls back. There’s confusion all over his face and it’s clear he’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to do. “I - If Prince Lance does not want to engage in such activities I am obliged to obey.” He bows.

It’s not enough to kind hide the worry from his face.

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” Lance begins and Keith looks up with a frown. “I want you to consent to this.”

“I consent to whatever my master chooses for me.”

“That’s not real consent.”

Keith opens his mouth to respond but no words slip out. It’s clear he’s stuck. 

“What happens if we don’t do anything?”

“Prince Lance, you shouldn’t worry yourself about -.”

“What happens?” Lance isn’t familiar with the concept of slaves but he knows enough. “Do you get punished?”

“I – yes,” Keith whispers and Lance has to cup his face stroke his cheek to keep him talking. “Prince Lotor requested for me to please you. He said I wasn’t allowed to return unused.”

 _Used_. The word makes everything twist inside Lance. 

“I don’t want to use you.”

But then there’s a finger under his collar and Lance follows like he’s got no other choice. Keith is so close. So warm and tempting and kissing along Lance’s jaw like he’s everything.

“I’ll be good,” Keith whispers. “I’ll be so good for you.” 

“Keith…”

“Touch me.”

Lance squeezes his eyes shut.

“Touch me like you would anyone else.”


	2. Bed Sheets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for unprotected anal sex.

Keith kisses like fire. Hot and strong and overwhelming. 

And Lance is like water. He molds around Keith like he’s always belonged there. Like a dam that’s broken he’s suddenly everywhere, hands grabbing Keith’s waist, tongue licking into his mouth. It’s addictive.

Lance feels Keith tugging and his outer robe falls to the floor. There’s a hand in his hair and another over his heart and at some point he must have walked forwards because he’s now leaning over Keith as he shifts backwards onto the bed.

Everything is better when Lance is on top of Keith. He can feel Keith’s tiny fangs against his bottom lip; lets Keith suck on it for a second before Lance forces his lips to part.

It’s wet and warm and a little aggressive but Keith is moaning into his mouth and pulling at Lance’s clothing and he fears they’re going to tear. They’re pressed against each other and Lance is definitely hard, rocking against the warm body below him.

When Keith presses a hand against Lance’s chest he almost whines. Keith pushes him back as he sits up and smiles at Lance’s frustration. He pulls off his cotton gown cleanly, throws it to the side to be forgotten about and then lies back against the sheets.

“Prince Lance,” he whispers and parts his legs.

Lance’s next breath is shaky. He’s not sure where to look and what to touch first. Keith is endless amounts of perfection; all lean muscle and flawless skin. Lance almost doesn’t want to touch, doesn’t think he deserves to. But then his hands are moving before his brain is done thinking.

He runs his fingers up Keith’s thighs, grabs them and massages the flesh there. His thighs are relatively safe. Keith’s got pink nipples that need to be tugged, a half hard cock that deserves to be sucked and Lance can’t even make it past that to Keith’s most intimate parts without short-circuiting.

Everything’s on display and Keith’s got a smirk on his face that tells he knows exactly what he’s doing. An arch of his back and he’s pushing his chest up, a hand grabbing blindly for Lance’s hand and bringing it up to cup his chest.

“I can see you looking,” Keith says. “You can have anything you like.”

That’s about as much encouragement as Lance needs. He runs a finger over Keith’s nipple, then comes back and gives the nub a small tug. He gets a pleased sigh in response and so he leans forward, covers Keith’s body with his own and kisses him again.

They get disconnected when Keith tugs off Lance’s shirt and this time Lance really does groan in frustration. He ends up kicking everything off, unwilling to get interrupted again.

The way Keith grabs his ass after that is nice.

Keith is master with his tongue and a tease with his fingers. Lance has a sensitive spot just on his inner thigh that Keith’s been rubbing and he’s convinced he has a hickey under his jaw.

But Lance can give as good as he gets. He drags moans from Keith with ease with a thigh pressed up against his cock and fingers that toy with his nipples.They grind together, grabbing and kneading at each other until Lance is the one to pull away from where he’d been tracing his tongue around Keith’s nipple.

“Do you – uh, do you have lube?” Lance asks and then gets distracted by Keith sucking on his collar.

“You don’t need any. Just…” Keith shifts his hips up in invitation and that makes Lance pull back for a tick.

“What?” 

“I’m already prepared for you, Prince Lance,” Keith says like its completely normal.

It’s not normal.

“Oh,” Lance breathes out and it’s kind of like he’s been smacked in the face with reality. Keith isn’t here out of his own choice. He’s a prince taking advantage of a slave.

And Keith must see the panic on Lance’s face because he’s rolling over to bedside table and coming back with a small flask in his hands. “In case you need it,” he says and is almost insistent in the way he pushes it into Lance’s hand. 

“Right…” Lance mutters. He uncaps the bottle and pours a little onto his fingers. He’s still hesitant and it all ends with Keith taking control by taking Lance’s cock in his hand. He’s got talented fingers and a rhythm that has Lance groaning in seconds. 

“Y-You’ll be the death of me, I swear.”

“Hm?” Keith smiles at him again. And then he has a hand on his own thigh and he’s pulling himself to the side and what Lance sees looks pretty and tight.

He _needs_ this. 

Lance has a hand between Keith’s legs and slick fingers pressing against him in a matter of ticks. He rubs, pushes in ever so slightly and then pulls back to massage Keith’s perineum instead. 

Keith shifts under him and Lance sees him worrying his lip with his teeth. He grins big and gives no warning for when he sinks a finger inside.

“Ah!”

Keith’s already slick inside, just like how he said but he still feels hot and tight and there’s no way Lance would have been able to fuck him without teasing him open with his fingers first.

Besides, it’s fun to watch Keith come undone. 

A second finger swiftly joins the first. Lance pushes and pulls and ends up setting a pace that’s punishing. Lance has always been good with his fingers and he curls them and rubs unapologetically. Keith’s got a sweet spot begging to be abused and Lance is all too happy to oblige.

“Ohh! P-Prince Lance!” Keith grabs at the sheets below him, twists them in his hands. 

Lance cocks a brow and scissors his fingers.

Keith’s toes curl.

Then he pushes in deep, stops suddenly and begins to press up against Keith’s prostate - slow, painfully so, but firm and unforgiving. 

Keith’s eyes roll up and his whole body tremors, the intensity too much but just right at the same time.

“You like?” Lance grins. 

“Uh! …I –.” 

Keith’s thighs are fighting to close when Lance finally stops his fun. He pulls his fingers out and runs his other hand soothingly up and down Keith’s leg to try to pull him out the daze he just caused. 

“You ready?” Lance asks when he bends over Keith to kiss him.

“You – You didn’t have to,” Keith pants and he kisses back lazy and uncoordinated.

“I wanted to.” Lance doesn’t know what Keith makes of him at that point. He pours more lube into his hand and slicks up his cock. A press against Keith is all that’s needed for the Galra to fully submit to him and Lance finally pushes in.

It’s tighter than with his fingers. All heat and pleasure and Lance is moaning instantly. 

“Oh…fuck!” He rolls his hips slow, a shallow thrust followed by a deeper one and then sets up a pace that won’t make him come immediately. 

Keith is quiet beneath him, mouth open around silent cries.

“You feel…” Lance begins and ends with a shaky laugh because he can’t finish that sentence. It’s all too much for both of them, this slow sex that’s intimate and full of pleasure.

But as nice as slow is, it isn’t Lance. 

So he snaps his hips forward faster, punches gasps out of Keith with every thrust. Lance has got Keith clawing at his chest, toes curling and just responding to everything he’s given.

Lance isn’t sure what’s fake and what’s real. But oh, the way Keith whimpers and shakes feels so real. Lance wants it to be real.

The way Lance fucks is just like him. It’s unpredictable and fast and with an strength that makes Keith cry out every time he pounds against his sweet spot. Lance gives and gives and lets Keith just take. He can feel Keith clenching around him, can feel the way his legs are locked around his waist. 

“Ah – _ah!_ ”

Keith’s cock lies against his stomach, red, aching and leaking against his skin. Lance isn’t sure how long he’s going to last. Not when there’s a tight warm grip around his cock and a boy staring up at him with swollen parted lips and eyes glazed over in pleasure.

In the last few moments Lance gives it everything. Grunts out something that isn’t even words and grips Keith’s hips tight enough to bruise. There’s a smack of skin against skin and Lance’s hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat. 

Lance comes with a long moan, his face twists and he gives a bunch of quick thrusts. Sweaty and heart pounding he wraps a hand Keith’s cock and eases him to the edge too. Lance is rapidly becoming too sensitive but he’s not going to stop when Keith is still pressing back into him, still needing that fullness inside.

When Keith comes he does so with a pretty whimper, a back that arches and legs that shake uncontrollably. He coats Lance’s hand and his own stomach and looks down at the mess he’s made like it’s almost surprising. 

Lance pulls out and swiftly collapses next to Keith and he’s not entirely sure if all his fingers are working. 

“That was…” he waves his stained hand at Keith. “Yeah, so, um… that was good.”

He swears he hears Keith scoff. 

It’s a mission to crawl under the bed sheets when Lance’s heart’s still pounding away. He hasn’t quite got his breath back when he wipes his come-covered hand on the corner of the bed and pretends like he didn’t just do that. But Keith’s watching him so he ends up giving a sheepish grin and burrowing as much of his head into a pillow as possible.

There’s a strange relaxed silence after that. Lance doesn’t know what protocol is after having sex with a slave but Keith doesn’t look like he’s in a rush to go anywhere just yet. It’s comforting somehow. 

“I’ve never been with an Altean,” Keith says as he reaches over. He runs has fingers over Lance’s ear and then up into his hair like they’re the most curious features. And Lance supposes that to Keith they are; sharp ears and a head of white hair.

“Beat all your expectations did I?” 

“Somewhat, yes,” Keith grins. “You are… a very attentive bed partner.”

Lance laughs. “I bet you say that to everyone.”

“Yes,” Keith shrugs. “But I don’t mean it most of the time.” 

Lance props his head up with his hand and uses the other to pull the sheets up over Keith’s body. He gets a cocked brow for that, like his behavior isn’t already strange enough.

“You care a lot,” Keith observes.

“I’m nothing but positives,” Lance brags and he watches Keith’s eyes light up in delight.

“Everything a prince should be.”

“I want you to know that if at any point you had told me to stop, I would have,” he says after what feels like a quintant. 

Keith stares at him for a moment. Then he covers the short distance across the sheet and lets himself be wrapped up in Lance’s arms. There’s a slow, gentle kiss over Lance’s lips and then Keith pulls back.

“I know.”


	3. Nobody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for rape threats and implied violence

It’s early in the morning when Keith finally pulls away from Lance’s arms. The air is chilly on his skin but he’s quick to swing his legs to the side of the bed and stand. Lance drools and snores behind him and there’s something oddly enticing about it – Lance just feels _safe_. That’s something Keith doesn’t feel very often.

But Keith doesn’t turn back, doesn’t want to look again or he’ll find himself crawling back. He can’t let himself do that. 

So he picks up his flimsy clothing, walks out the guest quarters and gets a look and a half from one of the Altean guards at door. The other one just gapes at him - runs his eyes up Keith’s bare legs and chokes when he gets to Keith’s sensitive areas.

His path gets blocked by one of the guards; an arm in his way and Keith watches him shoot concerned looks at the door and then one of suspicion at Keith.

“What were you doing in Prince Lance’s chamber?” he demands.

“I’m a sex slave,” Keith says like it wasn’t already obvious. He’s naked with messy hair, bruises on his hips and a wetness between his legs. Modesty isn’t something afforded to slaves and his rank is painfully clear. “I accompanied Prince Lance for the night. He is perfectly fine.”

“Right…” the Altean says, clearly uncomfortable. And with a look to his fellow guard he shifts out of the way. “Off you go then.” 

Keith doesn’t spare them another look. He pulls on his sheer outfit in the middle of the corridor and leaves the flustered guards behind. 

He meets servants on his journey, ones that don’t acknowledge him because Keith is nothing to them and guards, tall brutes that grab at him and make Keith twist out from under their leers. They’re all one and the same really – people that exist, people that don’t matter. 

The servants’ kitchen is just like it always is, crowded and loud and hot. Keith’s barefoot and the floor is sticky with grime but it’s all something he’s used to. He makes his way over to the cooker with a bowl in his hands.

Keith’s got one hand on the ladle and he’s peering into the pot when he gets smacked away. There’s a huge belly in his way and a sweaty Galra chef grunting down at him. “Get your whore hands out of the food,” he snorts and wipes his hands on his chest. 

Like the food could get any worse. 

The bowl’s ripped from his fingers and when it’s thrust back at it him Keith’s food portion is a fraction of what he’d wanted. It’s more water than food as it sloshes over the sides of his bowl, lukewarm so it doesn’t even burn his hands. 

Keith grits his teeth and doesn’t say anything. First rule is to not piss off the man that feeds you. 

Keith is alone when he eats. He’s always alone. Sat on a bench in the corner, swallowing down red goop that’s gone gray in areas. He doesn’t taste it - there’s nothing good to taste - and eats out of necessity.

He doesn’t like to draw attention in moments like this. He’s vulnerable here in the kitchens, surrounded by Galra much larger than he is. But his alien features always attract someone’s gaze.

“I heard through the grapevine that our slave was with an Altean last night!”

It’s Virak: a rowdy man who only lurks in the kitchens because he likes the girls there. He’s a cleaner, barely anything. But Keith is nothing and Virak is at least something and that puts him leagues above him. 

Keith puts his head down and shovels the food down faster.

“You wouldn’t catch me dead with an Altean. They’re too skinny,” a random girl comments like her opinion is at all wanted and Keith hears a kiss.

Virak laughs – annoying, too loud and delayed because he’s an idiot - and comes over and falls into the seat next to him. Keith shifts to the edge of his own. He’s got the balls of his feet on the floor, ready to spring up if he needs to. Confrontations can be unpredictable at the best of times. 

“Oh I bet that’s it!” He crows. “You too loose to feel a tiny Altean prick?” 

He gets laughter for his comment and Keith still hasn’t risen to the bait. He hasn’t even looked at Virak yet. 

But then Virak pulls his bowl out from under him and it’s too risky to attempt to reclaim it. So Keith stands up, makes to leave and suddenly there’s a hand around his arm and he’s being yanked back down.

“You answer me when I ask you something,” Virak hisses. “Go on _Keith_.”

“Let. Go,” Keith growls. He’s tugging his own arm trying to pull away from Virak, ready to scratch if need be. Keith’s not weak, he knows how to fight, but in this sort of scenario he’s powerless. 

“I could have you on your knees crying around my cock and not a single person here would stop me,” he hisses and Keith grits his teeth together because they both know it’s true. He’s got no one on his team.

Servants and the lower downs stick together. There are no other slaves here. The others are down in the mines gathering priceless quintessence. But they probably wouldn’t help him either. Great big hulking labour slaves look down pleasure slaves even when their chains are the same. 

Keith tries to pull away again and this time there’s a hand in his hair. Virak tugs and it _hurts_. 

“Let go you fuck!” He snaps and he’s pretty sure he’s about to get slammed head first into the table. 

“ _You_ are not above me.”

“Prince Lotor is,” Keith grunts out and the warning is enough. Virak’s grip disappears instantly. Lotor doesn’t like his belongings mishandled and Keith hates using Lotor as a defense mechanism even more. Keith doesn’t want to need Lotor.

Virak’s clicking his teeth, furious when Keith stands. For a tick Keith thinks he might reengage. But then the Galra backs down again. He picks up Keith’s bowl and pours its contents into his mouth and then gets up to move back over to his girl with a snarl.

“Enjoy your breakfast, Virak. The floor needs cleaning by the way.”

\---

Lotor’s quarters are as they always are. Keith isn’t unused to them, Lotor has taken him against every surface imaginable within the rooms and he’s unashamed of an audience.

Keith stands near the doors, head down, arms behind his back and thinks he must staining the place with his presence. His feet are filthy by now and he must reek of sex.

Keith’s staring down at his feet when Lotor appears but he can still see feel his grin. Lotor’s always had a way of making his presence known without words – a certain hostility that fills the room. Keith’s learnt not to flinch a long time ago.

“I take it Lance enjoyed himself.”

“Yes, Prince Lotor,” Keith mumbles at the floor and sees Lotor wave his hand at him from the corner of his eye. He swiftly pulls off his clothes without further instruction, stepping forward so that Lotor can see Lance’s work. 

There’s a hand under his chin and Keith is being forced to look up. Lotor seems amused by his appearance and then there’s another hand on his hip pressing at his bruises. The only tell are Keith’s ears twitching. 

“I take it he used you fully.”

“Yes, Prince Lotor,” Keith says as the hand dips round and lower. It presses between his thighs, pushes up for a second, invasive and uncaring and then withdraws.

Lotor looks at his wet fingers, then back at Keith and nods. He appears satisfied. “Good. You were never a good liar anyway.” 

“Thank you, Prince Lotor,” Keith replies and rushes to pick up his clothing. He offers it to Lotor who wipes his hand clean. He waves his hand again and Keith redresses himself.

“And what did you make of the Altean?” Lotor asks and Keith is a little surprised. His opinion doesn’t matter so why is Lotor asking.

“Prince Lance talks highly of himself. He enjoys conversation and is very respectful,” Keith says carefully. “He was kind to me and used me as you wished him to.”

“You liked him,” Lotor says and Keith is instantly shaking his head and stuttering out a no even though he liked Lance an awful lot. Lotor just laughs at him, taps Keith on the nose like he’s something Lotor’s fond of and it’s terrifying. “Bad liar, remember. Make sure to get some servant clothes fitted for the trip.”

Servant clothes? Trip? What is Lotor -.

“As much as I’d like to parade you around Altea naked, I hear slavery isn’t very popular there.” 

Keith gawks at him. 

“Surprised?” 

“Um…yes, Prince Lotor.” What else is he supposed to say? Lotor is taking him to Altea – it doesn’t make sense Keith.

“Good. You’ll be Lance’s new plaything. And, you’ll be my eyes and ears,” Lotor says and grips Keith’s face a little harder. “I want information Keith. There’s no point in having allies unless you know how to exploit them. Do you understand?”

The threat is thinly veiled; no information is not an option. For someone at the bottom of the food chain Keith’s just been tasked with an awful lot. 

“Yes, Prince Lotor.” 

Lotor lets go and Keith stumbles back a step. “A phoeb. That’s when we leave for Altea and you have a whole movement to find me something.”

“Yes, Prince Lotor.”

“Lance liked you. Make sure you don’t bore him.”

“Yes -.” Lotor waves at him to leave. 

“Go. I have an Altean Prince to entertain for the quintant.” He’s already walking away, Keith swiftly left behind and forgotten. Like he hadn’t just entrusted Keith to spy for the Galra Empire. 

Keith backs out of the room and when the door closes behind him stands still for a moment. 

Altea.

The planet of the Alteans. A race of elegance and beauty, minds the envy of the universe and a military focused on peace. No slavery, no nobodies like Keith. Somewhere so perfect it sounds like a fairytale. 

He looks to the Galra guard on his left. “How far away is Altea?”

He’s ignored.

“How far away is Altea?” Keith tries again, this time louder and directly in front of the guard.

This time he gets a cock of the head. “It doesn’t concern you.”

Keith’s ready to ask a third time when the second guard interrupts. “Maybe he’s coming too. Prince Lotor doesn’t much like Alteans; must want his cock warmed while we’re there,” the guard snickers.

Keith glares until an arm thumps him on the back and he’s being pushed away. “Same galaxy, different star systems. Alteas’ on the edge.” the first guard ends up saying. “Now get out of here before one of us wants a reward for answering you.” 

“Different star systems…” Keith breathes. 

“Altea on the edge of the galaxy…” 

He blunders away from the guards, eyes wide because in a matter of ticks Lotor has opened up the universe to him. Suddenly Keith wants to trace the journey on a map, wants to see just how long he’d have to run his finger along the hologram till he gets to Altea.

He’s never even left Daibazaal before. Never had the chance. He’s always been contained here, on a dark planet within metal walls. A mismatched Galra never allowed to leave - stars unreachable and isolated from worlds.

But now… 

“I’m going to Altea,” Keith whispers.


	4. Smile

Lance whistles and leans so far over the balcony he almost goes over. “That’s a lot of purple – people, I mean people.” He can feel Allura’s eyes rolling and then there’s a hand at his neck and he’s being pulled back from the edge before he really does topple over. 

This high up everyone else just looks like dots far below in a decked out courtyard. But it still doesn’t take a genius to separate the dozens of mingling Galran representatives from the Alteans. Lance’s people are smaller and he can appreciate a good silk gown from miles away. 

“Isn’t it amazing?” Allura says from over his shoulder. “How many times have so many Galrans and Alteans been together in the same space?”

“Oh are we excluding the wars because – ow! I was joking! Stop pulling!”

Allura lets go off his ear and Lance’s going to curse her to high heavens if his flawless complexion is going to be ruined by one sore red ear. 

He watches her do exactly what she’s been moaning at him _not_ to do and bends over the balcony. “We’re making history here. Father must be so proud,” she smiles and ok, it’s infectious.

“How many Galrans do you think father’s hugged?” Lance looks at her and they’re both serious for a moment before they splutter into laughter. 

“All of them I imagine.”

“I want to see him hug Lotor,” Lance says and Allura snorts and grabs him by the arm, pulling him away from the balcony.

“Don’t you want to see it up close if he does? Come on.” 

They race to the elevators like children and Lance _only_ lets Allura win because he doesn’t want to sweat in his outfit. It’s new and tailor-made and the blue goes just so well with his skin. Next to him in the elevator Allura looks beautiful and he nudges her with his arm to tell her so.

Her smile is worth it.

The doors chime quietly before opening and Lance frowns a little as they step out into the corridor. “Where’s Coran?” The royal advisor should be here to accompany them.

“Coran’s on holiday actually.”

Lance almost trips. “Are we talking about the same person? Coran doesn’t do holidays.”

“He does when they’re a royal order from father. He’ll be away on Planet Kythra for an entire phoeb.”

“What’s he doing, catching a tan and seducing the ladies?”

They reach the end of the corridor where two Altean guards bow low at a set of doors. “Princess Allura. Prince Lance,” they say in unison.

Lance puts on his biggest smile. “Alright, _razzle dazzle_ time.”

The doors open out into a courtyard packed and bustling with activity. And yet it only takes a few ticks for servants (an interesting mix of both Galran and Altean) to swarm the royal siblings. Lance’s got a drink in one hand and snack in the other before he’s even taken a breath.

After that, it’s easy to play his role – Alteans are effortlessly pleased. 

“ – lovely hair.”

“Is that charmeuse silk?”

“ – I heard that he prefers ladies with a little red in their hair.”

“I would just love to come to your baby shower.”

“ – oh, your husband is a lucky man.”

High-class Alteans just flock to them. Lance has a smile that pleases and words that make girls giggle. 

The Galrans however, are little harder to satisfy. Mutual conversation topics are sparse, most of the Galra are dressed in armor and Lance’s smile wobbles ever so slightly sometimes. But if he does get a few blushes from the female Galrans he’s certainly not complaining about the attention. 

Lance was simply born for this. With his sister and father also circling the room it’s not hard to have everyone at ease and enjoying themselves. 

“Prince Lance.” The voice is older, too rough to be Altean and when Lance turns he’s faced with a Galra several feet taller than him.

And okay, maybe that’s the kind of face Lance sees in his nightmares.

“Uh…hi?”

The man bows. “I am Commander Sendak.” He stands up tall and Lance isn’t sure which robotic attachment to stare at: the arm or the eye. “It is truly outstanding to see our races upholding such an alliance. Emperor Zarkon will be pleased to know.”

Lance isn’t quite sure what to say to that either. Zarkon’s been bedridden for many deca-phoebs. The dude’s old and no one really knows what wrong with him but he’s got fiercely loyal commanders and an heir that reeks of more confidence than Lance does.

Speaking of Lotor.

“Prince Lotor’s doing a really great job,” Lance says and he turns with Sendak just in time to see his father, King Alfor, pull Lotor into a hug that’s tight and unexpected. 

Lance swears he can see Lotor’s face twitching all the way where they are. 

“Yes,” Sendak nods slowly. “Prince Lotor is a fine leader. Now if you’ll excuse me – perhaps we will meet at the trade talks.”

“Oh no, that’s Allura’s job.” Thank god. 

Sendak _almost_ smiles – sneers, as he leaves and Lance absolutely does sigh in relief. He’s gotten over his stigma against Galrans long ago but he’s never quite shifted the way they intimidate him. 

He stands for a moment and thinks about making his way over to where a lovely bunch of Altean men are grouped together. Or over to the older ladies - they love to gossip. Or perhaps he should just regroup with his sister before Allura gets too engrossed into what appears to be a retelling of Galran history from a man five times their combined age.

Lance doesn’t look properly when he grabs a new glass off the servant platter that goes past him so he ends up doing a double take and spilling his drink all over himself.

“Keith?”

He sees black ears twitch and then there’s a familiar pale face smiling at him. “Hello, Prince Lance,” Keith says.

Keith is… Keith? The same body and the same voice and the same eyes that shine. Except this Keith is in Altea. Why is Keith in Altea?

“Hi… I um, I didn’t know you’d be here,” Lance mumbles and all of a sudden he’s a little nervous. Like him and Keith don’t already know each other. How does he address a sex slave he was basically forced to bed. Lance doesn’t quite know what to say.

He runs his eyes over Keith. “Uh, you look different?” Brilliant. 

Keith’s dressed in Galran servant garb, which is a hell of a lot more clothing than Lance has previously seen him in. It’s almost weird. But a good weird. 

Keith ducks his head at that. “Prince Lotor felt it would be best to respect Altean customs. My usual uniform would have been inappropriate.”

Lance’s isn’t sure he’d be calling it a uniform. But he’s right. Alteans are strongly against slavery, always have been. For Keith’s status to be known would certainly cause problems.

“Right, that makes sense.” 

Lance bites at his lip and looks around. The event seems to be in full swing and his father has a group of Alteans and Galrans clinging to his every word. But then Lance catches Lotor’s eye for a tick and he quickly looks away.

He doesn’t like Lotor staring. Not at himself and absolutely not at Keith.

“Hey. Do you by any chance wanna get out of here?”

“Oh…” Keith nods at the tray in his hands filled with glasses. “I’m supposed to hand these out.”

Lance just grins. “I can help with that,” he says and Keith must be thinking he’s planning to drink them all because he stares just a little. But he grabs the tray anyway; winks at Keith and just like magic two servants appear at Lance’s sides.

“Prince Lance, may we be of assistance,” one asks and then the other chimes in, “there is no need for you to burden yourself.” They pull the tray from his hands and disappear and Lance is left smug and shrugging at Keith. The power of royalty. 

He swears he sees an eye roll. Lance kind of likes it when Keith is amused.

“Do you not need to be present here, Prince Lance?” Keith ends up asking. He’s just making feeble excuses now and they’re both smiling at each other.

“Lets just say it’s a good thing I’m not the heir of Altea. Because that! Is exactly what big sister’s are for,” Lance steps forward and grabs Keith by the hand. “No one’s going to miss me.” That’s a lie. “Come with me?”

Keith barely nods and Lance’s smile grows and before they know it Lance is dragging them through the crowds and through a side door. Then it’s through a set of doors that beep twice as they go through and start to climb the stairs.

Lance quickly regrets using the servant’s staircase.

“I’m … not unfit… I just… have asthma… okay,” he wheezes by the fourth floor and hates the fact Keith gets to use his energy on biting at his lip and trying not to laugh.

“No… fuck this,” he gasps at the sixth floor and pushes through the doors there. The doors beep twice again. “Lift… we’re taking the lift.” He punches his hand into the authorization screen and weeps when the elevator doors open. Lance slumps against the wall as they’re carried high up into the castle and tries not to think how he may have just embarrassed himself. 

At Lance’s floor he guides Keith to his quarters and gestures for him to enter. Lance gets a look for that, almost like he wasn’t supposed to let Keith in first. But he brushes it off and saddles up to Keith with an eyebrow raised.

“Well? What do you think?”

Keith looks around for a moment and then he settles his gaze on Lance. “I think it’s very nice.” He steps closer and reaches up to wipe away the sweat that had beaded up on Lance’s forehead with his sleeve. “And I think you are very endearing, Prince Lance,” he says.

Compliments have always meant a lot to Lance. They’re his energy. They make him move and talk and express. 

Lance doesn’t know why it’s so easy but Keith just makes him express joy. 

Keith kisses him slowly and it’s familiar and good. The slow press of lips on his own and Lance is going to get wrapped up in this Galra again before he even knows it. He crowds in closer, runs his tongue against Keith’s lip and then withdraws back to innocent pecks. Lance and Keith melts against him.

Keith chases and Lance runs and at some point Lance is just pressing kisses against a toothy smile. It’s innocent and fun and he laughs when Keith catches him and nibbles at his lower lip. 

There’s a loud knock on the door that gets ignored until it’s obnoxiously consistent and Lance groans into Keith’s shoulder. Then he pulls away with a frown, walks over and swings open the door with a murderous look. “What?”

There’s a familiar looking servant girl on the other side with an expression that says she’s dealt with far too much of Lance’s bullshit before. What was her name again? Orish? Orilla? “Prince Lance, your presence has been requested in preparation for the formal dinner to begin shortly.”

What dinner? Lance doesn’t remember a dinner.

“Huh? Say that again.”

“The formal dinner between the Altean and Galran representatives,” she says and looks like she’s ready to drag him down the corridor. She must be one of Allura’s. 

Oh. _That_ dinner.

“Look Orisi -.”

“Orissa.” 

“Orissa. Allura’s supposed to be handling all this diplomacy stuff, I’m just the eye-candy little brother.” 

“She said you might say that, Prince Lance. Your attendance is still expected.”

Yup, totally Allura’s.

Lance sighs and glances behind him at Keith who is a little distance away pretending not to listen. He can’t exactly bring Keith along; the dinner will have authorized servers and he’d never be allowed a seat.

Lance was just looking forward to spending more time with him. He doesn’t know how long he has and all he wants is to have Keith in his arms while the other adults talk politics.

Lance purses his lips together, shuts the door in Orissa’s face and walks up to Keith to clasp his hands. “Hey,” Lance smiles. “Look, I’m really sorry, I didn’t remember I was supposed to be somewhere.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’ll be gone a varga, two at the max. You don’t have to but would you – would you like to wait here?” Lance asks and then rushes to add, “I mean! You don’t have to; it’s up to you! Actually you probably have somewhere to be. I just – I dunno, I’m being dumb I guess.”

Keith squeezes his hand and Lance squeezes back instinctively.

“I’d love to wait for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for a slow chapter, had to do some setting up. I can't believe I've hit 2000 hits already. Thank you guys!


	5. Warmth

Keith watches Lance leave. And then he waits. And waits. Waits until the sound of footsteps have disappeared and then longer just in case.

He’s not dumb; he knows there’s a security system at play in the corridors of the castle. There were no guards on Lance’s floor, no cameras that Keith could detect either. The lifts work by authorization only and Keith had clearly heard the noises the stairway doors had made as they’d passed through. Some sort of heat detection? Tracking perhaps? 

Keith chews at his lip, arms crossed. He’s not about to risk anything yet and leaving Lance’s quarters would be foolish. He’ll have to ask Lance later, play it off as innocent curiosity. 

Even that doesn’t sit well with Keith. Lance is nothing but kind and Keith genuinely adores his company. Lance is clearly trustful and Keith hates that he’s going to take advantage of that. Lance deserves more and Keith deserves nothing.

He uncrosses his arms and sighs. Being trapped doesn’t mean he can’t do anything though he doubts Lance’s quarters contain any hidden secrets that would interest Lotor.

Keith starts on the other side of the room. He peeks at shelves and pulls open drawers. If there’s one thing Lance owns a lot of, it’s skincare products. Lotions and creams that promise the world and when Keith licks a little of something that’s _supposed_ to be berry scented he gags and quickly puts it back.

Another door opens up into a huge closet and it’s a stark contrast to the leather and armor Lotor stores. There are fabrics that Keith isn’t good enough to touch and an array of colors and gems. He backs out of the room.

Lance’s space is big and open, light with a warmth about it and Keith ends his investigation stood at the foot of Lance’s bed. It’s the size of an ocean and Keith wonders if Lance expects him laid out on it when he gets back. 

He grabs at the bottom of his shirt for a moment, thinks of pulling it off but then reconsiders it. Lance doesn’t seem to expect much of anything from Keith and it’s all entirely confusing. Keith knows he’s attractive, knows that Lance agrees, and yet Lance is about as respectful as they come when he really doesn’t have to be. 

A breeze comes through the open doors and it attracts Keith’s attention. There’s a huge balcony just past the bed and it’s curiosity that drags Keith outside. 

He’s high up, _really_ high up with a view that spreads as far as the eye can see. Altea is green and alive and the white metal of buildings doesn’t feel cold against the landscape. The sun’s warm on his skin and the wind messes with his hair. 

Keith rests his hands on the railing, closes his eyes, clears his mind and just _breathes_. The invisible chains around him don’t feel so tight.

For a moment Keith almost feels free.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there. The sky turns from blue to red and purple as the sun sets and the temperature goes down. 

He doesn’t move when his ears twitch towards the sound of a door being opened. He knows he should, a slave has no reason to be doing nothing. But then arms wrap around his waist and a head props itself on his shoulder.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Lance asks and Keith nods.

“Yes.” He’s not sure how it’s possible for Altea to become even more scenic. Daibazaal is nothing but bleak in comparison, bathed in either a blood red or total darkness it’s an unwelcoming place to call home.

“I take it you’ve been out here for while. Your skin feels cold, gotta warm you up.”

Keith turns abruptly in his arms, he's been careless with his time. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t quite sure what you expected of me whilst you were away, Prince Lance.”

“What? No, hey, come here,” Lance says and cups his Keith’s face so gently like he’s about to break. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I was an idiot for not being organised. I’ve brought you back food to make up for it. Might be a bit cold but it’s still good and Hunk is an amazing cook.”

Keith frowns. “Why?”

Lance frowns back. “Why what?”

“Forgive me for asking but why are you being so kind? Prince Lance, there is no need for you to put such effort in. I’m used to the bare minimum.”

Lance’s eyes go sad and his smile is small. Keith doesn’t like that look. “You deserve more than that.” He brushes his thumb against Keith’s cheek. Lance’s words sound real, like he honestly believes what he’s saying.

“Prince Lance -.”

“Can you call me Lance? Like, just Lance.”

Keith blinks, surprised. It’s not correct for slaves to directly address superiors like that, with such a casual tone. 

“Lance,” he says, testing the word on its own and sees Lance’s smile grow. “Lance,” he repeats, just to make sure Lance’s happiness wasn’t mistakenly placed. But the Altean is grinning at him now. 

He tugs at Keith’s arm. “You’re really getting cold, come on.”

Inside Lance guides Keith to sit on his bed and wraps him up in a blanket so large Keith almost drowns in it. He peeks his face out, curious as Lance sits a tray on the bed between them. There’s a plate on there filled with food, most that Keith doesn’t recognise and some that he’s seen Lotor eat before.

“Hunk mixed Altean and Galran cuisines together, I think father almost cried. But these!” Lance points at something. “Breaded turtle scallions – a-mazing!” 

Keith waits for a tick, wonders if Lance is planning to feed him like the first time they met but when Lance just sits there blinking at him expectantly he realizes he’s supposed to move. So Keith worms his arm out of the blankets, picks up a scallion, and pops it into his mouth.

He _almost_ moans.

But Lance must see his face because he smirks. “Good right?”

Keith chews and swallows and then reaches out for another one without even thinking. This is not something he’s accustomed to. 

Keith clears the plate, even finds himself licking his fingers clean until Lance laughs and throws a handkerchief at him.

Then Lance scoots closer, tugs at Keith’s blanket until he’s buried under it too. They wrap up against each other, hands intertwined and Lance’s face squished into Keith’s shoulder.

Like this you’d never be able guess who the slave and prince were. In that moment Keith feels like a boy cuddled up next to another boy that he likes. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Lance mumbles and Keith just nods. “I dunno if it’s rude to ask, but do Galrans purr?”

Keith grins. “No. We don’t.”

“Really?” Lance pulls his head up. He almost looks disappointed. 

“Do these glow in the dark?” Keith asks back and runs his finger against the blue marking just under one of Lance’s eyes.

“No! Why would they?”

“So why would Galrans purr?” It’s inexcusable for a slave to bicker, to challenge, or to comment. But Keith can feel Lance shaking with silent laughter against him and then he butts his head gently against Keith’s.

“Okay. Point taken.” He kisses Keith briefly on the lips. “Something tells me you’re not like this with everyone else.”

“This…sort of behavior would not be allowed normally. I’m expected to be silent unless spoken to, submissive, obedient.”

Lance face appears downturned. “I just ruined the mood didn’t I? Shit.” He hugs Keith tighter. “You’re not an object.”

“That’s exactly what a slave is.”

“I hate that word,” Lance whispers and he appears to fall into a miserable silence. 

Eventually he mumbles out of the blue, “I’ll have to tell Hunk you liked his food by the way, should probably introduce you actually. Pidge too.”

“Hunk is the cook?” Keith slips into the conversation easily. Its clear Lance doesn’t like to talk about slavery. It’s a dirty topic for someone who shines as brightly as Lance does.

Lance nods.

“And Pidge?”

“Our tiny tech wizard,” he laughs. “If she saw how many guards and how much armor you Galrans have she’d call you barbarians.”

“She… doesn’t like protection?” Keith asks with a frown.

“What Pidge doesn’t like is old things. She invents and makes things better… and ended up making half the guard force jobless and hate her… but we don’t talk about that.”

Keith glances at Lance carefully. His body language is open and relaxed and he’s busy drawing patterns into Keith’s leg with his finger.

“Is that why you don’t have guards at your door?” he asks slowly.

“Pretty much! No one can get to this floor without some old geezer at the control tower knowing about it because the doors track everyone who enters and leaves. So we don’t need guards.”

Keith wills his body not to tense up. That’s it. That’s what he needed.

“But what if someone wants to hurt you?”

Lance snorts. “You’re adorable.” He pokes Keith on the nose. “We’re Alteans,” he says like that’s supposed to make everything clear. It kind of does. You wouldn’t find race more peaceful than them if you tried. Such a system would never work in the Galra Empire – there’s too much distrust, too much violence.

“Alteans are… strange.”

“Galrans don’t know about complimentary colors. Now _that’s_ strange.”

Keith smiles and Lance reaches up to scratch behind Keith’s ears.

“I wish you purred.”

“I wish you glowed in the dark.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for another filler. The plot kicks in next chapter I promise.


	6. Peace

Keith wakes up too early and glued to Lance’s side with sweat. Under thick blankets and still in their clothes from the quintant before the heat is almost unbearable. Lance is drooling onto his shoulder and it’s almost like it was the first time they slept together. Except this time they really did just sleep, cuddling into the late night until both had collapsed.

Keith peels himself from Lance.

And almost jumps when Lance grabs his ankle.

“W-Where you going?” Lance groans, face now buried so far into a pillow Keith almost doesn’t catch his question.

“Breakfast,” he blurts out and Lance’s grip loosens. “I thought I’d bring you breakfast.”

“I like breakfast,” Lance mumbles and it’s clear he’s a good tick from falling back asleep. “Kitchen. Third floor… ask for cake.”

“Cake…Okay,” Keith smiles as Lance succumbs to sleep again and the snoring picks back up. He’s adorable; a Prince that Keith doesn’t deserve.

Especially not when Keith walks out of Lance’s quarters with only deceitful intentions and a feeling that he doesn’t like. 

He’s after information. Breakfast will come second.

As expected there are no guards in the hallway, just an empty corridor with a lift on one end and the servant staircase on the other. He makes for the stairs. Keith’s got one chance at this. If he goes through the doors on this floor he has to exit on the third or the system will know something’s up.

Keith bites his lip, goes through and hears the detection beep.

Up one set of stairs and he assumes he’s at Princess Allura’s floor, first born and heir to throne it only makes sense. 

So that means the floor directly above should be King Alfor’s. A man that’s campaigned for peace throughout the universe and who welcomed Galrans with open arms after the wars ended.

If there’s valuable information to be found it should be near the King, right? 

Keith cocks his head and ponders at the doors in front of him. He can’t go through them and he’s not clever or educated enough to hack the system. So another route is needed. 

He pulls back from the doors and starts to look. The staircase is nothing but white metal panels and blue lights. It’s almost pretty for something only to be used by the lowest. 

Keith goes back to Lance’s floor. Then goes back up. And back down. For several dobashs that he doesn’t have. It’s still early but the castle will awaken soon. 

He leans against a wall and thuds his head back against the metal. He’s got to _think_.

Keith’s never been good at this. His use is in his body. There’s nothing else good about him.

Perhaps he’s bitten off more than he can chew. Going after King Alfor’s information directly may have been too much. There’s probably a tech floor, research, military, anything in the castle. He could convince Lance to show him – weave a web that he hates so Lance will like him more and more. Take advantage of everything given.

He’s not sure how pleased Lotor will be though. Halfhearted details about things he already probably knows. Anything more will not be left in the sightlines of a Galran bastard. Alteans are known to be kind and trusting but they’re not unwise.

Lotor’s set him a bar that’s too high. He must expect Keith to fail and then to enjoy whatever punishment he chooses to deal.

Keith breathes in.

And pauses.

He’s _breathing_. Breathing fresh air that’s got to be coming from somewhere. There’s got to be ventilation system at play, if that’s how the Galran castle works the same must be the case for the Altean regardless of their aesthetic contrasts. 

Keith pulls away from the wall and looks. He _really_ looks. And then when looking isn’t enough he starts to run his hands over the panels, trying to feel for any difference. Ears perked he listens for the sound of air being pushed through.

It’s on the stairs up to Allura’s floor where he finds it; a small metal panel just above his head that has a barely detectable grid texture to it. And when he rests his hand against it he can feel the air.

Keith snorts. He’s got it. A way in. Finally. 

It takes gritted teeth and a lot of pulling for the panel to come loose. Keith’s nails aren’t as strong as a full Galra’s and his index nail is bleeding and sore by the time he sets the panel onto the floor and peers into the hole its left.

It’s barely big enough. Keith doubts even Lance would fit. Though thin, the Altean has broader shoulders and extra height. It’ll be a tight squeeze for Keith also and when he boosts himself up into the tiny space he’s entirely grateful for how underfed he often is. 

He’s slimmer. Shorter. Right now, he’ll take any advantage he can get.

In the air vent he’s met with a column that runs up and all the way down and down and down. It’s not too far up into the ceiling above King Alfor’s floor but if he slips he’s surely dead.

Keith pulls his legs up against one wall, braces his back against the other and starts to push himself up. It’s hard work and he’s legs shake and there’s sweat beading down his forehead. He takes a break at the intersection above Allura’s floor and then carries on.

Many dobashs later Keith catches his breath, wheezing at his destination and urging his heart rate to decrease before he can carry on. He won’t be caught by an inability to remain silent. 

He pulls himself to along the vent, turns left at another intersection and ends up awkwardly backtracking after a dead end. Keith’s not entirely sure what he’s after. And he’s not all too confident that if he does find something it won’t be trapped behind an encryption. 

At some point he finds himself above a bedchamber. It’s much bigger than Lance’s, more color and gold but altogether useless in Keith’s task. 

He’s grunting as he drags himself along another few feet when Keith hears voices and drops flat against metal, breathe caught in his throat. 

“You cannot expect me to agree with this.”

There’s a gridded panel just a few feet in front of Keith and he makes a mad fumble to get even a glimpse of the conversation below him.

He makes it in time to see King Alfor drop into a chair, head in his hands, clothed in a dressing gown.

“I am disappointed. For you to interrupt me with this _idea_ ,” he says and shakes his head. “To go against my authorization….”

Another Altean steps into view. She’s tall with magneta hair and tan skin and she looks at Alfor with frustration. “King Alfor, it was important for these scans on the Galrans to be completed this movement. We would have had no other opportunity.” 

Keith leans closer. Alteans running unknown scans on Galrans is information indeed.

“They are our guests, Hira!” 

“Please, my King,” she pleads. “The hoktril will not work unless properly calibrated to Galran biology.”

Keith frowns. Hoktril? 

“You assume I would support such a device,” Alfor says. “It is barbaric. It is not the Altean way. We have sought peace for thousands of years and now, you would disturb what we have accomplished with _this_.”

“ _This_ is how we maintain peace! The Galrans are not peaceful allies. They are hungry for power, for war and sooner or later they would turn on us.”

“You think of them as beasts?”

Hira stumbles and Keith can see her hidden agreement on Alfor’s question. She clenches her hands and then says, “I want what is best for Altea.”

Alfor leans back in his chair. “And you think with this… hoktril? This device?” He points to the back of his head. “That that’s what would be achieved.”

“If I may…” a male voice says and a grey haired man appears beside Hira. He props his glasses up and with a smile that makes Keith uncomfortable he says, “The hoktril inserted into the back of every Galran head would ensure no more ill-intent from their race. We Alteans would be in total control.”

Everything stops. 

This is… this is not at all what Keith had expected. And in a cramped air vent he doesn’t know how to react. His eyes are wide and his hands shake uncontrollably and he presses his face up against the metal because he has to hear this properly. 

He doesn’t want to believe it. Alteans are against this. As a slave, Keith is against this. It’s not right and it makes him sick: for Alteans to want to own all Galrans as animals - obedient pets. 

“Slaves. You would have our allies become our slaves?!” Alfor stands and brings a hand down on the table in front of him.

“No, that’s not -.”

“That goes against everything our people stand for! We are _not_ slave owners.”

“Please forgive me, King Alfor but you may have misunderstood. Non-cogs would not be slaves. You cannot be a slave if you have no free will.”

“Non-cogs?”

“Ah. That is the term for ndividuals under the full influence of the Altean Kingdom. Imagine what the universe would be like. The Galrans would live happy lives. They would not even be aware. You could say that they would find peace themselves,” the man says.

Every word is making Keith feel sick.

“No pain. No war. Nothing but peace, is that not what you have always strived for King Alfor?” Hira asks. 

Keith sees Alfor slump back into his chair and he silently begs Alfor to not agree with them. 

“I… I am conflicted,” he says and sighs.

“We understand, King Alfor. You have always been a shining example for Alteans. A wonderful father. An excellent leader. An advocate against violence. And now we need you to continue to be that example, do what no King has done before you. Be the King that brings about an everlasting ceasefire in the universe.”

“Hira. You have put me into a position that I am yet unsure what to do with.” Alfor runs his fingers through his hair and speaks more to himself than to his audience. “A device that would also total control over Galrans – not slavery as you say but a more… mutual resolution. Understand that I am still not entirely happy with this.”

“Yes, King Alfor.”

“Yes, my King.”

“How many people know about this?”

“Just us, King Alfor. The other researchers have been kept in the dark about my studies. There are… _some_ … that would oppose the bettering of the Altean Kingdom.”

“Good. I would like to keep this quiet. Now let me think.” Alfor dismisses them by turning away. There’s a struggle on his face and it’s clear that he is unsure yet not totally repulsed by the idea anymore.

“As you wish, King Alfor,” Hira says and both her and the scientist bow low and leave in silence. 

Alfor remains seated for a few more ticks in an uncomfortable silence and then he leaves also. 

Keith waits a moment more just in case. He’s not sure he could move just yet anyway. He’s still processing, trying to understand. His people haven’t done anything wrong. Alfor cannot agree with this. Keith grits his teeth. Anyone can be convinced something bad is good if enough effort it given. 

No. Not anyone.

Lance would never agree with this. And yet he doesn’t even know.

It’s time that makes Keith leave. He shuffles back down the vent with hands slick with nervous sweat and in the stairway he doesn’t know what to feel as he pushes the metal panel back into place.

He walks down the stairs not quite looking where he’s going, ends up bumping into an Altean servant with arms full of towels who glares at Keith and his mumbled apology. The castle is finally waking up and Keith just feels like he’s been forced back to a dream. A nightmare. A possible future he doesn’t know what to do with. 

He has to tell Lotor.

He has to tell so Lotor can fix all this.

But first he has to keep up appearances. So he fixes his face into a neutral expression, wipes the concern from his eyes and walks like he isn’t burdened with information that could change everything.

Keith goes through the doors on the third floor as they beep and is immediately hit by a mixture of scents that overpower him. Sweet and savory, fruits and meats and baked goods and as he finally peers into what seems to be the main kitchen the smell is even stronger.

The space is full of life. Alteans scurrying around, shouting instructions, carrying plates and reaching over each time constantly. There’s a happy buzz in the air and a system that can only be described as organized chaos. 

It’s nice. 

“Nope! Nope! I’m not dealing with another one!” 

Keith blinks and suddenly there are large hands prodding him. There’s a big friendly Balmeran face peering down with him, even if his expression shows nothing but exasperation. 

Keith’s never seen a Balmeran before but this one’s reptilian features and tail fit the descriptions he’s heard. He’s dwarfed by him really and Keith finds himself taking just one step back.

“…I’m sorry, I just came for –.”

“You came to help. I get it.” The man says. “Why are Galran servants so keen on helping? Is my food not up to Galran palates? You’re the fifth Galran I have to chase off. Your help is appreciated but this is my kitchen, my rules, no staff that I haven’t personally trained.”

Is that…?

“Hunk?” Keith asks and the Balmeran is surprised for a moment and then squints down at him.

“Have the other Galrans been talking about me? Annoyed I’m not letting them help cook? I did tell them! Just because you tell me now that Prince Lotor likes Taujeerian vegetables doesn’t mean they’re going to magically appear in my kitchen!”

“No. I came to get breakfast,” Keith says and then rushes to clarify. “For Prince Lance. I came to get breakfast for Prince Lance. He asked for cake?”

A moment, and then Hunk grins big. “So you’re the one he snuck off with.” He raises his hand up. “I don’t want to know. Lance gets up to some freaky stuff and he’ll probably tell me eventually anyway. But cake. Cake I can do. I’m good at cake and I’m even better at guessing that Lance wants cake.”

Keith didn’t know grins could get any bigger and before he knows it Hunk is disappearing into the depths of the kitchen and reappearing with a neatly wrapped plate. 

“Puigian cakes! Lance’s favorite. Not exactly breakfast food but Lance is Lance and Lance is the Prince.”

“Uh… I guess?” 

He takes the plate from Hunk and waits because the Balmeran looks like he wants to say something.

But then something sets on fire behind him on a stove and Hunk runs off with a speed Keith hadn’t expected and a panic that’s well needed.

Keith is panicking too. But it’s on the inside and well concealed and it’s over something much more harmful than some burnt food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look the plot has appeared.
> 
> Thank you to all the people reading and especially those choosing to leave comments! You guys make me so happy!
> 
> If anyone is interested, my tumblr is peachybottoms.tumblr.com.


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